Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
We’d decided to meet there for one last meal before we headed out—at least Pete and Gordon did anyway. There I was, already sitting in the booth, a glass of chocolate milk in front of me as well as a sketchpad, when I heard Jubilee’s arguing.
“I don’t want to ride with him,” Jubilee growled. “I’d rather drive myself.”
I snorted, causing her attention to come to me.
Her eyes went to my face, first, and then to the sketchbook that was in front of me, before a sneer settled onto her face.
“How about you just go back to your drawings, Picasso? The adults are busy,” she snapped.
I grinned and went back to my sketch, not because she told me to, but because I was almost finished with it and I wanted to show it to Rome before we left so he could keep it and think about whether he wanted to have it permanently etched onto his skin or not.
Rome’s son, Matias, had died of leukemia. The sketch I was working on was a memorial piece for his son, and also resembled the coffin that I’d also painted. One scene flowed into the other, and by the time I was finished, it would be taking up Rome’s entire arm and snaking onto his back.
I studiously ignored Jubilee’s definite annoyance at the situation and finished up a few last-minute changes before Rome was set to arrive. At least, that was what I’d intended.
Rome was never one to follow directions, though and ended up arriving about five seconds after that thought had entered my mind.
The door to the diner dinged, and as usual, I looked up just to make sure that nobody nefarious was entering without my awareness.
Rome stood tall and proud in the doorway, his eyes on the crowd at the diner, taking everyone in at once.
I lifted my hand at him to show him where I was, and he nodded his head in acknowledgment.
Grinning like a fool, he headed our way and didn’t stop or nod at anyone on his trek over.
“Still got that pretty boy smile, I see,” I joked as he strolled up.
He offered me his hand, and I took it, giving him a good back slap before letting him go.
“Still drawing like a little kid, I see,” Rome teased right back. “Did you break one of your crayons?” He gestured toward the piece of charcoal I’d been using to sketch with. “I can go ask the hostess for another pack.”
Jubilee burst out laughing.
I flipped her off.
My father sighed.
Rome grinned.
“I just don’t understand,” Pete grumbled. “What’s it going to take for y’all to get past this?”
What it would take for us to ‘get past this’ was a whole lot of time and likely death for both of us. There was no ‘getting past this.’
It was just who we were at this point. I wasn’t sure that it would be possible not to at least say that we hated each other. At this point, it was a habit – without a lot of force behind it. And it was getting harder to say the expected dialogue.
“You’re asking a question that has no answer,” Rome offered his two cents. “It’s easier to just ignore.”
“Yeah,” Pete grumbled. “Like that’s been something we’ve been able to do over the last twenty plus years.”
I shrugged and gestured toward the table that was directly beside our booth. “Have a seat. I’m not quite done yet.” I paused. “Have you eaten yet?”
He nodded and pulled up the chair to the right of me, but paused before he sat.
“You gonna sit, darlin’?” Rome asked cheerfully.
It was weird seeing Rome happy. After his son died—or hell, even for the year that I’d known him while his son had lived—he hadn’t been a happy person. Not that I blamed him for being unhappy. It wasn’t every day that you had to live with the knowledge that your child would die and there wasn’t a thing you could do to save him.
Jubilee sighed and walked up to my side, gesturing for me to move over. “Move.”
I shook my head. “No. Crawl over.”
She glared. “Well get out, then.”
I already shook my head before she could even finish the sentence. “No.”
She growled in frustration, then crossed her arms over her chest as if to say, ‘I’ll stand here all damn day if I have to.’
And I would’ve let her.
“Listen, Emo Queen,” I told her tiredly. “My leg hurts and I don’t want to get up. I hit my shin on something today as I was walking out of the house, and it sends a shooting pain up to my balls when I walk on it. Just crawl the fuck over.”
She narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth, then shoved her hand into my face and pushed backward as she used it for leverage to crawl over me.